


Tough Love

by icandrawamoth



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Concussions, Explosions, Gen, Head Injury, Nausea, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, badthingshappenbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 20:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Cal barely escapes an explosive trap. Greez grudgingly takes care of him.





	Tough Love

**Author's Note:**

> For whumptober day two prompt "explosion" and badthingshappenbingo prompt "concussion."

“You have _got_ to stop doing these things to yourself, kid,” Greez grumbles, nudging Cal into a seat in the _Stinger Mantis_'s common area as he goes in search of the medpac.

Right now, even the gentlest push from the diminutive alien is all Cal needs to drop him into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut. He's unsteady on his feet, shaky from the explosive trap he's just escaped in the ruins he was exploring. His ears still ring with it, his vision doubling every time he moves his eyes, making him dizzy and sick.

“Hey, you still with me?” Greez's voice is gruff as he reappears in front of Cal, prodding his arm.

“Yeah, 'm with you,” the former Padawan mutters.

“Good. Cere would kill me if I lost you when she wasn't around.”

Cal can hear him puttering around in the medpac, but he still can't make his eyes focus enough to see what he's doing. His head aches, and just the act of trying to concentrate enough to listen is exhausting work.

“...no impact or puncture wounds,” Greez is saying when Cal tunes in again. “Nothing you're hiding from me, no blood I can't see?”

Cal shakes his head – and, boy, is that a mistake. His visions swims, and he gags.

“Uh-uh, not on the carpet!” Greez cries, shoving something into Cal's hands.

Cal leans over whatever it is, eyes squeezed closed, and dry heaves.

“Easy,” Greez mutters, even as BD-1 starts hooting worriedly. “Out of my way, droid!” Cal winces as something pricks his non-gloved hand. “There, that should help.”

It does, and quickly. The nausea starts to drain away, at least. The ringing in his ears and the ache in every part of his body is unaffected. Cal blinks up and sees his friends slowly come back into view.

“There, now I believe you're with me,” Greez says, and even in his state Cal knows his gruffness is hiding true concern. “That was a shot of concussion meds. Don't need to be a trained medic to know you've got one of those, and bad too.”

“Sounds about right,” Cal mumbles. He lifts a shaky hand to his head. There aren't any bumps, but he didn't hit it either. Just the concussive force of the explosion was enough to throw his brain for a loop. He lets his eyes close, willingly this time, and concentrates on breathing evenly, channeling the Force into helping his body recover.

“And he's doing that Jedi thing,” Greez mumbles. “Do you even need me and this medpac at all?”

“I always need you, Greez,” Cal soothes, diverting just enough attention from his attempt at self-healing. “If it weren't for you dragging me back here, I'd still be lying on the floor on that cave.”

Greez snorts. “Kid, you need someone to drag you out of all the danger you're so eager to put yourself in. And it's not like Cere's gonna do it. Precious mission and all that.”

BD-1 beeps sharply in agreement, and Cal manages a small smile.

A commotion on the landing ramp breaks Cal's focus, and he looks up to see Cere entering, concern etched on her face. “What happened?” she demands.

“Kid tried to get himself blown up exploring those ruins out there,” Greez says succinctly. Cal can't tell in his addled state if BD-1's frenzied beeps are defending him or supporting the frustrated alien.

Cere looks Cal up and down analytically, and he can feel the Force pressing lightly at the edges of his perception. “Concussion?” she asks.

Cal manages to stop himself nodding just in time. “Yeah.”

Cere grunts. “I've told you before, I never excelled at the healing arts.”

“Me either,” he says sheepishly. “I'm doing my best, but it'll take time.”

“Well, if banging your head around a little is the worst of it, you got off easy. And I see Greez has been over you with the medpac. Go get some rest. That's about the best we can do for you. One of us will come check on you in a bit, and if you get worse, we'll see about getting you to a medcenter. That sound good?”

Cal blinks a few times, trying to parse all the words.

Cere steps forward and touches his arm. “Go to your bunk. Can you make it on your own?”

BD-1 beeps a negative before Cal can answer.

“I'll help,” Cere says, offering support as he gets shakily to his feet. “You have got to take better care of yourself, Cal.”

“That's what Greez said,” Cal tells her with a shaky little laugh.

The ghost of a smile flits across Cere's lips. “Well, he's not always wrong.”

“Hey, I think I resent that!” the alien protests as they make their way out of the room.


End file.
